by A. S. Green
“Last chance,” Denny says, sounding sympathetic. He’s probably reacting to the fact that I’m sweating like a pig.
“I’m doing this, Denny.”
Charlie chimes in. Yeah, you are.
Denny and I get out. The November wind is brisk and getting colder. I snap up my leather jacket before slinging my bag over my shoulder. Royce is looking at me like I’m a land mine about to go off, so I guess Denny clued him in on all my neuroses. Big of him.
“Got the route mapped out,” Royce says as he closes the gap between us. “The New Porte airfield has our ETA. Should have you there in about five hours.” He reaches out and shakes my hand.
Fuck me. I glance past his shoulder toward the plane. Three tons. Five hours. Nine hundred and fifty miles.
I know it’s possible. I know it’s probable. Doesn’t change the fact that my hand would be shaking like a leaf if Royce didn’t still have it in a vise grip. Professional badass, my ass.
“We can leave right away?” I ask. He lets go of my hand, and I shove it into my pocket.
Royce gives me a stoic nod. “All set.”
Denny claps Royce on the shoulder. “Appreciate this.”
“Glad to help,” Royce says. “I got a cousin in St. Paul I’ve been meaning to visit anyway.” He takes my bag from me. “This it?”
“That’s it.”
“Will you need to stop somewhere to refuel?” Denny asks. Ah, hell. I hadn’t thought of that. Two takeoffs. Two landings.
“Nah. Got the auxiliary tank. We could go all the way to Winnipeg, if you want.”
I shake my head. “New Porte’s far enough.”
Royce laughs like I’m being funny, then starts walking backward toward the plane. “Catch you later, Den. Maybe a barbecue at Mick’s house when I get back? Bring Melinda. I’m sure my son would love to see her again.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Denny says, scowling, then he turns toward me. “Tell Natalie I’m thinking of her, will you?”
I shoot him a look of panic.
“She’ll be fine,” he says. “Just get there. The rest will fall into place.”
I nod and follow Royce with my heart pounding in my ears.
The next few minutes pass by in a haze. I am vaguely aware of Denny driving away, of Royce tossing my duffel into the Aerostar, then of him doing his final check. I’m in the copilot seat. There’s a clipboard leaned up against the instrument panel with flight notes sketched in smudged pencil.
“How old’s this plane?” I ask when Royce climbs into the captain’s seat.
“Ninety-seven.”
“That old?” My eyes turn to the joints in the ceiling, the side panel, looking for some sign of defect.
Royce pauses in what he’s doing and looks at me. “I know this ain’t no easy thing for you. I flew in the Gulf War and got some buddies that called it quits after that, but I’ll get you back to your girl in one piece. Promise.”
I nod. It kills me that this stranger feels the need to baby me. Like I’m some little old woman wringing her hands.
The engines start up with a roar, and the right-side prop casts a rotating shadow against my window. I clutch the sides of my seat as we pull out of the hangar, roll down the lane, and around the row of hangars, headed for runway two-seven.
When we get there, Royce centers us on the line, just behind the threshold. “Ready?” he asks.
“No.”
I close my eyes and curl my fingers around the ends of the armrests. Royce powers up. We steadily pick up speed. I squeeze my eyes tighter.
Soon we’re barreling down the runway. My weight involuntarily settles against my seat back, and I open my eyes for a split second—long enough to see the runway disappear under the nose and for the view to go to a solid field of blue.
“Doing okay?” Royce asks.
“Just fly.”
I don’t look, but I know he’s smiling when he says, “It’s what I do best.”
Without opening my eyes, I take one hand off the armrest and fish a flask out of the pocket of my leather jacket. I unscrew the cap with my teeth, then spit it into my other hand.
“I hope you don’t mind.” But I don’t really care if he does.
Royce chuckles. “Whatever you gotta do, man.”
…
I’m sound asleep (or unconscious) when we hit turbulence over some large body of water. My stomach rushes for my throat, and even though I hear Charlie telling me it’s only Lake Erie, my head is right back to that dark night somewhere over a flooded river. I unbuckle my seat belt and crawl on my hands and knees between the pilot seats and into the back of the plane. If I’m going to be sick, it’s not going to be all over the controls.
We take a hard bounce, and I reach up for an armrest.
“Get yourself buckled in,” Royce calls back to me. “Don’t need to deal with any head injuries.”
My hand slips against the hard plastic, and I crawl into one of the double seats—far enough back that I don’t have to see anything more than what’s in my own head.
I feel someone settle into the seat beside me. I know who it is, and it’s a comfort, though I don’t look. Seeing the empty space would take that all away. I buckle in. Bend over my knees. And pray.
It’s another three hours before I say Amen.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Natalie
There are voices in the hall. Not the quiet, routine voices discussing this patient’s pain-relief schedule or that patient’s anger-management issues. I’ve made an effort to be easy on the nurses. It’s not hard. I can barely stay awake more than a few minutes at a time.
Both of my parents have been at my bedside, even Dad, though he’s still weak on his left side. Every time I open my eyes, I see the tops of their heads, bowed close together. Not this time, though.
It’s their voices I hear in the hall. Are they arguing? No, don’t start arguing again. With my eyes closed, I reach for the call button, but I can’t find it. Nurse?
“I’m afraid we can’t let you in to see her.” Dad sounds like he’s in a tunnel, but I can tell he’s angry. Must be a bad tunnel. “Bad tunnel,” I murmur.
“I flew all this way,” says another voice. Something about it is vaguely recognizable.
“Mr. O’Brien. Mrs. O’Brien.” This time it’s Kate. She’s trying to calm my parents down. Good. Someone needs to take care of them. “I’m sure Natalie will want to see him.”
Him? She must mean Bennet. I love Bennet, but I don’t understand why he’d need to see me…or why Kate thinks I’d want to. Not like this anyway. I open my eyes and glance down at the IV drip still leading into the back of my hand. Ouch.
“But you should know before you go in there,” Kate continues, her voice dropping so low I can barely hear it, “Natalie lost the baby.”
The words tear through me like a razor. It’s almost enough to break through the fog, and I turn my head toward the window. An anguished sound comes from the hallway, and I close my eyes to brace against the pain.
Is it better or worse for people to know? I can’t stand everyone’s low, sympathetic voices. But at the same time, the idea of no one else knowing my baby was real? That breaks my heart in new and unfathomable ways. Goodbye, pretty little hellion.
There’s a rustling sound, and I sense someone in the doorway. When I turn to look, there’s a ghost leaning against the frame. It’s Jax. Pale. Gaunt. I blink, trying to make sense of it. Is he a real ghost?
Yesterday—was it only yesterday?—I thought it was me who’d passed to the other side. I thought I was drinking tequila with Johan Lenz in Chicago. Too bad it’s Jax who gets to be the ghost. Especially since he never even seemed to believe in them. That’s not fair.
Then I think how cool it is that God let Jax keep his leather jacket in the afterlife. “What happened to you?”
His body jerks, and something in his hand swings against the doorframe. “What happened to me?”
“Did the bad guys finally get you?”
I should have been there to save him.
His eyebrows lower over his eyes. Those sleepy gray eyes. I remember those.
He walks to my bedside and sets something near my feet. He squats down so we’re face-to-face and takes my hand in both of his. “Natalie.”
The touch of him. The warmth. It shuttles the last cloud of grogginess from my brain and injects my heart with a shot of adrenaline. “You’re not dead?”
“No,” he says, stifling a laugh. “And, thank God, neither are you.”
He heard. How did he hear?
“I know about the baby, Natalie.”
My throat thickens and clogs as I try to push out the words. “There isn’t any baby.”
He nods, then hangs his head, his thumb rubbing back and forth over my knuckles. “And I’m so, so sorry.”
I can feel how sorry he is. It’s not his fault. I want to lift my hand. To touch his cheek, but I’m still too weak. Stupid drugs. I can’t do anything for him. He seems to know, and he lifts my hand, turning my wrist and pressing my palm against the side of his face. His beard is soft.
“What’s that?” I ask, noting the gift bag near the foot of my bed.
“Nothing,” he says. He closes his eyes, and a single tear squeezes out.
Nothing?
“It was for the baby,” I say, understanding. I’m awake now.
He nods.
“Show me.” My voice is soft but still demanding.
He shakes his head, eyes closed. “Some other time.”
“I want to see now.”
There’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of his full lips, and he opens his eyes. They are shining with moisture. Jax reaches for the gift bag and drags it over so it’s right between us. He opens it for me, pulling out both pink and blue tissue paper.
“Nisi wrapped it,” he says in explanation before pulling out the tiniest leather jacket I have ever seen.
A sob catches in my throat, because it’s so perfect and there’s no one to wear it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you more sad. But you once said it was impossible not to love someone in a leather jacket. I wanted you to know how I felt.”
“Jax.” A single tear falls over my lower lid and slowly tracks down my cheek.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’ll save it for next time.”
“Next time?”
He smiles, while somehow looking terrified. “Open the pocket. That one,” he says, indicating the tiny chest pocket.
My eyes flick to his, then I try to do what he says. There’s something hard inside—hard and round—but my hands still won’t work right, and the IV drip makes it even more awkward.
Jax takes over, undoing the snap on the pocket and pulling out the object that’s hidden inside. He holds up a platinum band. The princess-cut diamond catches the sun and sends rainbows around the room. My eyes blink furiously, trying to make sense of it.
“Natalie.” He clears his throat. “Six years ago, I was already imagining doing this. I know this isn’t the best way, or the best time to ask you this, but…this last month has been miserable without you.”
“Jax,” I say, smothering a laugh. Is this really funny, or is the medication to blame?
“Are you laughing at me?” He looks horrified.
I feel a wide grin breaking across my face. “Jax, I’m not saying no.”
“You aren’t?” His shoulders slump in relief.
“I’m not saying yes, either.”
He inhales sharply, then lets it go. “Natalie, I know I’ve been a fuckup, but I really do love you.”
“I know you do.” I reach up and hold his jaw in my hand, thumbing over the soft beard. “And I love you, too.”
“But?” he asks, as the tension creeps back in.
“But you’re proposing on impulse. We still barely know each other.” I am surprisingly clearheaded. I hope I’m making as much sense as I think I am. “We have a lot of work to do before either of us goes around proposing marriage, and now that there isn’t—”
“This isn’t about the baby, Natalie.” He slips the ring back in the tiny pocket and snaps it shut.
His hand closes around mine, and my heart lurches in my chest, because I don’t believe him. “You never would have bought a ring if you didn’t think there was a baby.”
He shakes his head, even though he knows I’m right. “This isn’t an impulse. This proposal has been years in the making.”
I hold my breath, waiting for what he’s going to say next.
“I’ve loved you for six years. Since you fell asleep on my shoulder in the back of your friend’s van. When you left, I should have gone with you. I should have told you how I felt way back then. Haven’t we been apart long enough?”
“Yes.” My voice is shaking.
“So if not now…”
“Not now,” I say, finding my strength again, because we really don’t have to rush this, and I’d much prefer to be upright when we do this for real. “But someday. Maybe even someday soon.”
His chest inflates. “You’ll fly back to New York with me? When you and your dad are both feeling stronger?”
“Yes.” The fatigue is dragging me under again. His words are taking longer than normal to sink in. But then they do. “Wait. You flew here?”
The tops of his cheeks redden. “I needed to get here fast.”
I exhale and squeeze his hand with as much strength as I can muster. “No wonder you looked like death standing in my doorway.”
“That wasn’t why,” he says, and the reality of where we are and what’s happened hangs in the silence between us.
“So you aren’t afraid anymore?”
He shakes his head. “Still terrified. Sure you want to hitch yourself to a coward?”
I smile through the tears. Coward, my ass. He’s the strongest man I know. “I love you, Jax.”
“I love you, too, Natalie.” His lips press against my forehead as I feel my eyelids get heavy and close. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
“Righteous,” I whisper on exhale, then I’m overwhelmed by another wave of fatigue and slowly…quite gently…drift away.
Epilogue
One Year Later
All the cars that had been ahead of us in line for the ferry are now onboard. Natalie is sitting beside me in the passenger seat. Well, sort of sitting. She has her window rolled all the way down, and she’s got her torso sticking halfway out as she waves at her friend Bennet. Apparently he has no interest in quitting his work on the ferry, despite his Grammy-winning new song. Natalie’s had it playing on repeat for the last hour.
As Bennet directs us forward, I do just as I did the last time I drove onto this monstrosity: mentally calculate the weight, the distance, the likelihood of sinking. This time, however, my heart is beating more steadily, thanks to the shrink at the VA. Two more sessions to go.
I have no delusions about having everything behind me. My only goal is to be a better man, and now I’ve got Natalie to help see me through it. She pulls herself back into the cab and wraps her wild tangle of red hair up into a knot.
When she senses my hesitation about boarding, she takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. It’s all going to be okay.
This time I know it is. We’re here—along with a few other members of my team—to work another celebrity wedding. It’s high profile, just like the last time, but this bride is actually a college friend of Katherine’s who’s made it big. It’s surreal being back on this island. Who would have thought Natalie and I would have come full circle?
I glance over at her and catch the sun sparkling off the ring she finally let me put on her finger just last night. Her hand protectively cups her hard, rounded belly that was much flatter just a few short months ago. She does that a lot, I’ve noticed—holds it—as if she’s trying to make sure this baby doesn’t go anywhere. I hope it works.
Ever since she told me she was pregnant again, I’ve taken her off fieldwork and
put her back on a desk, but I could hardly keep her from her island—seeing her parents, her friends, her home.
Bennet comes up to my side of the SUV, and I roll down my window to pass him my ticket.
“Good to see you guys again,” he says to me, then he looks through the cab at Natalie and gives her a wide grin. “Katherine will be glad to see you.” He glances down, spots the ring on her finger, and smiles. “Very glad to see you. Plus, she’s having a fit with all these wedding details.”
Natalie laughs and says, “Some things never change.”
But I know that’s not true. Everything changes if you let it. If you want it badly enough. I wanted it badly enough. And that has made all the difference.
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Author’s Note
Wild Child is the sequel to Summer Girl. They are meant to be read in order, but doing so is not necessary to your understanding and enjoyment of Natalie and Jax’s love story. You can always go back to the beginning to discover more about Katherine and Bennet, and I certainly hope you do!
Acknowledgments
Writing a book these days is so much easier with the internet, but it can only take you so far. That’s why I am grateful for the assistance of Luke Friedrich and his knowledge of private security, drones, exit strategies, and zip ties; James Anderbard for the bit on keyloggers; and Collin Shoemaker for giving me the insight I needed into the US Navy.
As always, thanks go to my steadfast critique group: Jacqueline West, Lauren Peck, Li Boyd, and Connie Kingrey Anderson, along with my generous and no-holds-barred beta reader Elisa Ludwig. To my agent Jacquie Flynn, thank you for your notes on bodegas and other New York details. The Bed-Stuy roommates in apartment #3, same goes for you. Over at Entangled Publishing, my gratitude goes to Liz Pelletier, copy editor Sara Brady, cover designer Fiona Jayde, and last but not least, a big THANK YOU to my editor Karen Grove, who always pushes me further than I think I can go. Cheers!
